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Big Shoes, Now Empty
Jim Marshall was a big man in the life of this
office and certainly in my life. His death on September 17, 2006, left
a huge hole in many hearts.
For the past eight years during my tenure here,
he had been a pleasingly booming presence almost once a day, coming
into the office and greeting each of us in a way that made it seem as
if his “Hello!” or “Hello, Pretty Lady!” was meant just for you.
James R. Marshall
1931 - 2006
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Knowing Jim, it was indeed a personalized greeting with the general message: “Enjoy! I’m glad you’re here.”
Jim, of course, was also a big man physically …
something that just couldn’t be lost on a woman whose “voyageur”
ancestors were chosen because so many of them could fit into a canoe.
So in physical stature, Jim and my own dad couldn’t be farther apart.
There were other differences. Jim was well educated and well read, a
starter of some businesses and a purchaser of others. My own father was
a heavy-equipment mechanic whose education fell short of a high-school
diploma.
But these two “big” men in my life shared one
tremendous quality that made Jim seem like a dad to me, especially
after my own father’s passing. Sit down with them and they could both
weave stories so funny and so fascinating that you not only enjoyed
them, you wanted to repeat them to others.
Perhaps because of my own dad, because he taught
me that a tale well told was a treasure beyond money, I can think of
almost no greater tribute than to say of someone: “He was a great
storyteller.”
There are many cultures, including ours, I like
to believe, that highly value tellers of fine tales. They plant the
fertile seeds to carry stories - and often cultural values and taboos
or worthy bits of history - forward to future generations.
In buying and nurturing this magazine, Jim
merged his business acumen, his community philanthropy and his sense of
adventure with his delicious storytelling abilities. For many years,
you, our readers, have prized his voice on these pages through “Lake
Superior Journal” or on the pages of his books.
By talking his daughter, Cindy Marshall Hayden, into taking the reins as publisher of Lake Superior Magazine,
Jim showed how much he revered this publication and what it could bring
to and preserve for the community that is Lake Superior. He also,
though in modesty she wouldn’t like me to say it, showed how highly he
esteemed Cindy’s skills at managing and steering this storyteller’s
treasure.
It would be arrogant and selfish for me to imply
that I was the only one in this office for whom Jim seemed like a
father. His warmth and goodwill filled this space on his every entry.
And whether as a father figure - or perhaps grandfather for our younger
office family - his oft-repeated “You’re fun to be proud of” evoked
smiles no matter how many times it was spoken.
In working here, I’ve come to realize that Jim
generated similar feelings among others. I spoke a couple of years ago
to one of the many Scouts who cherished their experience in the
Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness guided by Jim when he owned an
outfitters business. In this case, Mona Knutson recalled Jim’s
impressive teaching and woods knowledge. She remembers his fatherly
concern when they canoed fast water by themselves for the first time:
“He’d stand on the bank and yell his head off: ‘Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!
Paddle! To the left, the left!’ Then when we tipped over, he’d jump in
and help us.”
Repeatedly, I’ve heard stories of how Jim helped
other boaters out of jams all around the lake. The volume of such
testimonies tells me these were not flukes; these were natural outlets
of a generous and caring man. Generous, of course, also was his family
for sharing him with all of us and for not being jealous when we felt
that he was like our father, too.
Farther along you will find our tribute to Jim Marshall, our modest way to honor such a big life.
But on this page, I simply wanted to let you all
know how proud I will always be to say, “Let me tell you a story Jim
Marshall once told me …”
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